Rama-Vad by Darrell Goza

WRITTEN WORDS Text Novel #1 - Rama-Vad #1 COVER.........................................................................John Brown Rama-Vad.....................................................................John Brown AllMaster......................................................................Darrell Goza EDITS.............................Fenwick ThaddeusFord and Darrell Goza

The Test Novels are our alternative to paperback novels. Interior art will be kept to a minimum, giving writers out there, that I don’t have access to an artist, a chance to show what they can do. We would like every story to be relatively complete in one issue and if you’re going to submit multi-part stories, please submit all the parts and submit them as digital files in an email, or on a CD or zip disk. This gives us the greatest amount of flexibility in type styling the text. Stories must be typed, single-space, and not written by hand. Scrawl will not be accepted. All creators retain the rights to their work, save letting us have North American printing and online digital print rights. We’re looking for original stories of your characters and not those of other companies characters. We’re also not looking for derivative stories based or thin copies of characters already in print. Our primary concern as publishers will be to see that no unnecessary gore, violence, or material devoid of taste is thrown at the public. We will be looking for originality, style, and interesting subject matter. The Text Novels will be open to any and all ages and basically any type of story... science fiction, comics, fantasy, westerns, etc., but we reserve the right to use or reject any story that we feel is not keeping with the standards of the line. So please, send only your best work, since only the best of all that we receive will see print! This Rama-Vad story is the product of the imagination of a man who is a very talented artist as well. His name is John Brown and his fertile mind has produced many things that as yet have not been introduced to the general public. He will be doing not only stories in the Text Novel format, but he also has done the third book in the Psi-Girl saga as well as the online webcomic ‘Romulus’, which in running online now @: http://sgocomicstrips.multiply.com and the SG Portal is: http: ScriptGraphics. com For those of you not familiar with ScriptGraphics and its comic line an e-mail to me, E.I.C. Aja Frost (aja_frost@hotmail.com) will get you any specific information you want. Now I’m turning this page over to Text Novel Editor and sifter of the material to appear here. Aja ‘IceQueen’ Frost - Continued on page 13 Sneak Peek at TN Issue 2 cover, DarkStone and Other Stories

At first the sky was dark when Rama-Vad pulled open the silk curtains. Then as he studied the view, he was able to distinguish tiny pinpricks of light he took to be stars. The radiator was cold, and the apartment was also. He could hear the sharp sounds of glass being gently set down upon glass, coming from the other room. He turned from the window and quietly walked back to the couch and sat down in a position that he could still see the window across the living room. Glancing down at his watch he saw that it was almost eleven o’clock, and then she walked in, carrying two cups of tea and honey on a small tray. “I’m sorry it took me so long, but I had trouble finding the tray. I’m still a little disorganized. Since my mother’s death, nothing really seems to matter.” She said it as she laid the tray in front of him on the small coffee table. Rama-Vad looked into those light blue eyes that lacked the bright sparkles of happiness. Her mother died last week and now she’s alone, with only a few living relatives left, and no real friends. Her name is Cathy Meeker, and he just met her a bout seven hours ago on the subway. Even though their relation ship has not been long, they both found so much in common that they both knew they could share an entirely different kind of relationship than the rest of the world. Reaching out to touch her soft blonde hair, he spoke. “You must learn to relax, of you may develop more problems than you have already. There is so much left here in life, it would be a sin for you to keep yourself from happiness because your mother has gone to experience that which comes to all of us.”

Page 3

Cathy hesitated a moment before answering, then she said in a crackling voice that showed how close she was to tears... “I want to go on living, and I want to be happy but, I have two brothers whom I have learned to fear. One of them broke my jaw last summer because of an argument over mother. I told him he should visit her more often. At that time he was coming by once of twice a year if he wanted money. He never even sent her a Christmas of birthday card. Anyway, he and my other brother threatened to kill me if mother didn’t leave them any money in her ‘will’. Mother didn’t. They think I turned mother against them. The lawyer told me this morning that if I died within thirty days after my mother, her

policy would look at it as if I had died first, and everything would go to my brothers.” Finally, she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and her whole body began to shiver as she said, “I’m scared.” Rama-Vad reached out with both hands, and wrapped his arms around her slender body. Cold tears fell from her eyes onto his neck and ran down to his shoulder where her hot breath touched him sporadically. “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered softly. “I’m your friend.” Then she replied sobbing: “You’re the only one.” “Sometimes one is enough.” He said back to her as his strong hands gently rubbed in a circular motion on her back. Rama-Vad woke up to the glaring sun, covering his eyes with his hands as he turned over in bed. He left Cathy’s apartment after they finished their tea two nights ago. She was much happier after she calmed down, and she knew how much his friendship meant to her. Slowly waking up he remembered how warm her breath was, and the way those teardrops of sorrow and fear had stained the white silk blouse she was wearing. Rama-Vad shook his head violently in an attempt to bring himself around to full consciousness. Then he got up and went to the bathroom to wash up. The doorbell rang at the precise moment he turned the faucet on. He knew it was probably the paperboy, so instead of going right to the door he went into the bedroom first to change. After he paid the paperboy and closed the door, he tossed the paper onto the couch and returned to the bathroom. For breakfast he fixed scrambled eggs, cereal, and ginseng tea, then picked up the paper absentmindedly, and vent back into the kitchen to eat. As he sat down at the table, he glanced at the first page, and almost at the same second slammed his fist down upon the table with a rage of anger. The headlines read: ‘GIRL KILLED BY SUBWAY TRAIN’ The photograph above the article showed several policemen holding back the crowd of people while ambulance attendants covered the tracks with a blanket. Even before he read the article, Rama-Vad suspected who it was. He confirmed this by reading the article. And he remembered her hot breath of life on his neck, and those cold tears of sorrow and fear.

Page 4

Rama-Vad crumpled up the newspaper and threw it on the floor as he stood up from what vas left of the table. He was moved by the article that he paid no attention to the splintered table that sat on the floor like a weak ‘M’ shape in two separate pieces. Before he realized what he was doing, Rama-Vad had changed into his red sam, and was about to storm out the door when it penetrated that he didn’t know where to find Cathy’s brothers. The paper quoted eyewitnesses as saying that a male caucasian pushed her in front of the

train after screaming at her about a ‘will’. The paper didn’t give the address of any of Cathy’s relatives, so the only course left to him was to return to Cathy’s apartment and hope she had their addresses in a personal phone book. Beads of perspiration formed on Rama-Vad’s nose as he balled his hands into two fists that turned pale from lack of blood. He was ready and willing to use them to draw blood that coursed through Cathy’s brother’s veins in payment for her life even though not even their deaths would ever bring her back. Still he would make them pay. The apartment was almost the same as it was two nights ago when they had tea together. The door was locked, but ordinary locks mean little to those of Shaolin, and Rama-Vad was most definitely of Shaolin. Twelve years of his life was spent training in a Shaolin Temple in China. Being only half-chinese means nothing when love is concerned, and that’s exactly what Rama-Vad received from the Priests in the Temple. Moving with a silence comparable to a shadow, Rama-Vad inspected the drawers in the bedroom for an address book, all the while praying she didn’t have it with her when she was killed. But he couldn’t find it in any of her drawers. Then following a premonition, he searched under the mattress of the bed. He didn’t find an address book, but what he found was better. It was a diary and inside, Cathy had written all her sorrows and fears about her brothers to whoever found it. And on the last written page he found the full names, occupations, and residence of her brothers. He quickly tucked the small white book inside his tunic, under his gold sash. Looking around the room from a stationary position to see if there was anything else there he would need, he walked to the door of the apartment, turned back around, and studied the window where he drew the curtains before. Only now, the morning sun sent it’s brilliant light through it. He then saw the small coffee table by the couch and remembered Cathy’s smiling face while they drank their tea. He tried to smile. He could only whisper ‘good-bye’ before he turned and walked out the door. The sky was almost cloudless, and the cold wind blew violently as Rama-Vad looked down at the apartment building across the street. He was standing on the roof of a taller apartment building, and his heart thundered with anger. But he could wait until the sun disappeared from the horizon, and his prey returned to his place of sanctuary. It was just past eight o’clock. Rama-Vad didn’t even bother hypnotizing the guard at the front door into letting him pass, instead, he entered the back way where deliveries were frequently made. There was no guard there, and the lock presented no problem.

Page 5

Upstairs, he waited a few moments, then rang the bell. A female voice came from inside the apartment, “Just a minute.” Rama-Vad strained his ears and heard the same voice whispering, “Are you expecting anyone dear?” He heard a male’s voice just as quietly reply, “No, but it’s probably just one of the neighbors. I was on the phone and they may have called.”

Rama-Vad smiled. A short pudgy woman appeared at the door, but her smile quickly vanished into a half curious, half fearful frown. “Yes? Can I help you?” Rama-Vad could tell she was finding it difficult to retain her composure but at this particular moment he didn’t care. At another time, under different circumstances, he would have felt sorry for her, but his sorrow for Cathy was too great to allow room for that now. “Hello, is Mr. Meeker in?” “No. I’m sorry. He’s working late tonight. If you leave your name, I’ll tell him that you stopped by.” Rama-Vad noticed that her leg was shaking nervously. And he also knew that she lied. “Perhaps I can come in and wait, It is extremely important.” He didn’t think she’d allow him in but he had to allow her every opportunity to be truthful. “No I’m sorry, that won’t be possible, You see, he won’t I’ll be back until late, and I’m very busy cleaning the apartment. Now her arm was shaking also. ‘That’s quite okay. I’ll help you clean up while I wait. It is urgent.” This was her last chance, and Rama-Vad didn’t think she’d use it. “I said NO!” Then she slammed the door but it wouldn’t close all the way. At the last moment, Rama-Vad saw her tense up, then quickly shoved his foot forward to prevent the door from closing. Then, he easily pushed the door with his hand and the woman fell backyard. “What the hell is wrong with you, are you crazy?” She screamed desperately. “No. But then again I may be, and not realize it”. Rama-Vad answered quietly as he stepped through the door. “Helen, what’s wrong...”

Page 6

Cathy’s brother ran into the living room. There a half-black, half-chinese man confronted him, he didn’t know from Adam. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing? You can’t burst into someone’s home like this! I’m allowed the right to protect my home.” He knew he didn’t frighten Rama-Vad. “How could you do it for money?” Rama-Vad asked becoming disgusted

with the mere sight of the man. “Do what for money? What are you talking about?” He asked stepping backwards. For every step Cathy’s brother took, Rama-Vad took one in turn. “How could you kill your own sister for money?” Rama-Vad’s ebony eyes burned coldly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. My sister had an accident.” He was still stepping backward. “You pushed her.” Rama-Vad stepped forward too. “Hey, who are you? You can’t come barging in here accusing me like this.” He stepped back again, this time his back ran up against a desk. “What’s wrong, you don’t feel safe because you and your brother aren’t the only ones who know what happened?” Rama-Vad was still walking forward. “No! I didn’t do it. He did it. I didn’t want any part of it”. He’s bringing his left hand up as if to ward off a bad dream. “Both you both planned it. You didn’t try to stop it. You didn’t do anything. You’re NOT innocent like an angel.” Rama-Vad’s eyes looked as if they would explode from rage any second now. “No. I, uh, um I...” he was speechless. Out of desperation, he picked up a heavy lamp from the desk and hurled it at Rama-Vad. Rama-Vad easily ducked, allowing it to pass swiftly over head. The lamp struck the woman, who was trying to sneak up on Rama-Vad from behind with a flower vase, square in the forehead. She crumpled to the floor, her now lifeless hand stretched foreword only inches from the empty vase. A little water dribbled out of the narrow opening of the vase. Rama-Vad parried a right roundhouse blow from Cathy’s brother, and hit him in the solar plexus with a dragon’s head blow. The man’s entire body was raised into the air, suspended momentarily by Rama-Vad’s extended arm. His eyes threatened to pop out of the sockets from that fleeting instant of unbearable pain as his central nervous system was thrown into total chaos. Then he died. Rama-Vad walked back to the open door, then gave the apartment one last glance. No longer caring, he turned and closed the door behind him.

Page 7

He didn’t know the police would file the incident as incorrectly as they would. It would be filed as the accidental killing of a wife during an argument, followed by a suicide as befits a grief-stricken husband. Heart attack. But Rama-Vad no longer cared. Two hours after the murder of Cathy’s brother, Rama-Vad was breaking

into the back door of a one-family house. The kitchen was the only lighted room on the first floor. He noted three lights on the second floor, and the attic was in darkness. Making less noise than a rising moon in the winter when all is still, Rama-Vad entered the small pantry and froze immediately. The light in the kitchen exposed a dog’s bowl lying in the corner of the pan try. Sniffing the air, Rama-Vad picked up the faint trace of a dog’s body odor. Then he heard the distant sound of the dog’s feet walking on the carpet floor in the front part of the house. Realizing that the footsteps were coming closer, he slowly reached under his tunic in the back and pulled out a pair of sticks that were attached to each other by a short nylon cord. He’d been taught to respect these sticks for they are deadly. And he learned to call them nunchakus. The quiet was violently broken by the sound of the dog’s growl. RamaVad knew instantly that the dog was of a formidable size. Then he saw it. It was a black Great Dane standing at least three feet at the shoulders. Rama-Vad crouched low like a cat as the huge animal approached. As the dog growled again, only louder this time, she leaped at the intruder of her domain. Rama-Vad spread the nunchakus apart with the tied end facing upward. Then with the speed that shocked even the dog, Rama-Vad sidestepped to the left and snapped the nunchakus with his right wrist, striking the dog on the left side, breaking two ribs. The dog yelped with pain before her front paws touched the floor. She cautiously turned to face her enemy. He hurt her once and she didn’t even touch him. She respected him almost as much as he respected her. But he had to get past her to get to her master, and Rama-Vad knew he would never get Cathy’s brother with out immobilizing her. She had to stop him for he was in her house. This time she would get closer before leaping. She would make certain that she was faster than he was. Though he was very different from people she’d met before, he was still only a human. Even though he moves like an animal, and he is not afraid, deep inside she knows she will win. But she can’t understand why he is not angry with her for attacking. Maybe he knows he has to. She loves her master even though he’s cruel to her most of the time. Creeping slowly forward, she sees his throat exposed, and she leaps. Rama-Vad drops forward to his knees as he brings his weapon forward forcefully with the corded end, jabbed the dog just under the collarbone like an ‘A’ split at the top. The dog gave out a loud yelp of excruciating pain that died almost as fast as it began.

Page 8

Rama-Vad leaned over to the side and gently opened the collar around her neck and angrily hurled it across the kitchen. Then, filled with soul-consuming anger, Rama-Vad abandoned all caution as he raced up the stairs. Before he reached the top of the staircase, he saw the dark figure of a man holding a rifle in the hall. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could feel the burning hate as the man pulled the trigger. The light silhouetting the man’s body wasn’t nearly as

significant as the bright burst of light that exploded from the barrel of the gun. Rama-Vad’s entire world turned red as he felt himself shoved down the stairs. The same instant his body became inflamed with the fire of immense pain, he hurled his weapon forward at the figure he no longer saw. It seemed an eternity while he fell. He saw Cathy’s smiling face; he remembered her tears staining the happiness that was never meant for her, then, he knew nothing. Rama-Vad awakened maybe moments, maybe days later. He didn’t know. At first he didn’t comprehend the liquid fire that enveloped his chest, then he remembered. He struggled to his feet, then staggered through the kitchen and slipped on the dog collar that was lying on the floor. Blinking his eyes from the unimaginable pain, he found himself lying next to the dog. Her eyes were still open, but now they were filled with peace. For a passing moment he thought he recognized a smile playing on the dog’s mouth. Forgetting his pain, Rama-Vad reached outward and feebly closed the dog’s eyes. Then he struggled to his feet, once again remembering his pain. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man with the gun, whoever he was; was dead. He had hurled his nunchaku with every ounce of his soul, and he knew that would be enough for the weapon to shatter a man’s skull like an eggshell, and that was enough. All reason numbed by pain, Rama-Vad staggered out the back door of the house into the awaiting darkness. Up stairs on the floor in the hallway, a hand moved…

...End?

Page 9

Page 10

...can kill you.

The Damned Dead Thing A story featuring Allmaster, fighter of the Unknown! Look deep into the workings of the mind of man. Tear away the pretentiousness and peel off all that is external to see the workings within, and if you look deep enough, you’ll find four driving forces: The lust for wealth, The thrust for power, The desire to be admired, And a fear of the unknown. Since man first crawled, he has feared the cold touch of darkness. To avoid it, he’s surrounded himself with a panorama of incandescence, forgetting that the darkness he fears the most comes from within his very own soul. That darkness, just like beauty, dwells in the eye of the beholder and not in the chill of midnight. It is that darkness, which is born in ignorance, that flourishes in fear. All Master From the darkest part of the city it came, it’s specific origin unknown. Crawling, creeping, slithering and sliding it’s bulk from shadow to shadow. A vicious travesty of something vile and malignant, an utterly hideous monster with a soul of blackest midnight and a mind of obvious depravity. It was one of those winter nights when the sky falls like a shroud and covers the sleeping city. Tendrils of fog, as cold as a skeletons finger, touch everything and the muffled stillness is broken only by distant moans. A tangible evil grips this city in the dead of this night. The winding street is deserted except for a husky man with a face of violence and a deadly weapon cradled in his arms, standing sentry in front of a dimly lit doorway. He is unaware of the grotesque figure materializing within the misty shadows... ...until it becomes a blur of undefined motion, catching him and devouring half of his body before the pain can register. The others at this drug drop instantly think it’s a raid and begin firing at the doorway. It’s through the doorway and upon them before they realize this is no raid. Two are mangled beyond human recognition and a third is all but dismembered. The fourth and last man attempts to escape through an open window, but his feet never touch the outside ground. His throat is crushed by the tendril which holds him suspended just above the ground outside the window. Of course, the proceedings don’t go completely unnoticed. A policeman, alerted by the gunfire, arrives in time to see the limp dangling form hanging from the window just before it’s yanked back inside. Knowing the tendril is beyond his ability to deal with, he does the logical thing... ...he runs for help in the form of his shoulder radio. Page 11

A small storm whips up at the doorway. It’s winds are warm and comforting, a harsh contrast to the atmosphere evidenced so far. In the eye of that storm stands Allmaster, and within his eyes the glow of survival

thrives, the passion for freedom lives, and the pains of humanity cry for deliverance. Justice will be done. The tendrils reach and Allmaster evades. The creature attacks again. It’s bulk becoming a seething missile of satanic stench. Lunging at nearly mach 1, still it just misses. Allmaster is leaping again almost faster than the eye can follow. Allmaster evades again and the creatures fury is hate incarnate. With shattering intensity, the creature regurgitates the bones of men long dead from within it’s gelatinous bulk at the speed of rifle shots. Allmaster is hit! He falters, but does not fall. The assault continues as the creature presses the attack, falling upon Allmaster with blinding speed. Allmaster is faster still and his now drawn, twin pronged, sword cleaves a vibrant hymn as chunks of the creature slide to the floor in harmony to that song. Now up close and personal, both grapple to gain dominance. They almost appear to be one entity. Suddenly, in a surge of desperation. Allmaster almost breaks free. He knows that his 15 years of nearly inhuman training assures him only a draw. He also know that anything less then a complete victory renders this conflict meaningless. Strength and power mean nothing here, only his pure essence will give him a margin for success. Only his TAO/SOURCE. As the creature envelopes him, his soul expands outward, scorching the horror with a flame far beyond any earthly fire. The creature retreats as Allmaster’s body begins to shimmer, trying to throw off the tainted evil in the atmosphere. Allmaster again brings his blade into play, cleaving a gleaming wake as it splices air and creature with similar ease. Each sword stroke evaporates or dissolves a portion of the demon, until only a mound is left. A mound that might yet contain some menace... So raising his sword high, Allmaster plunges the sword down into the center of that mound and expires the demon creature’s existence. Immediately and all too human scream is heard, A horrible scream which could only come from a soul in extreme terror or agony. A scream that will be heard many times until Allmaster finds the technological sorcerers responsible for the new demon age on earth.

Page 12

Epilogue: Sirens in the distance herald the approach of lawmen who will find the carnage of an empty room, one dead body (the strangled hood), and a score of unanswerable questions. A routine search will yield a 1 and a half by 3 inch gold card with a crimson letter “A” on one side and a proverb on the other... “Some things men will know and understand, Some things men will not know and come to understand; And some things are better left alone.”

...To be continued in a future Text Novel issue!

************************************* Writing because we have to...

Wanting to be a writer since I was six years old, I was determined to make it come true some day. I cut my teeth in the magazine publishing field, as well as copy writing for some advertising agencies. I had read comic books when I was much younger but found most of what passed for drama in comic books as just being far too contrived. At a New York convention I remember seeing some of the ScriptGraphics promotional material, I wrote (this was just before the digital revolution and the subsequent e-mails via the internet) a letter to Darrell Goza to see if he had use for a proofreader and the next thing I knew I was proofreading this, the first Text Novel. This was just at the tail end of the second ScriptGraphics retooling where they’d just changed from the eight and a half by eleven format, which they started with in ‘76’ but were moving away from, for the more manageable ‘digest format’ which had been popularized by Tim Corrigan. I suspect my timing was impeccable since it was early in that formation and he needed a proofreader and I was available. Also since I had some background doing proofreading, it was the proverbial match made in heaven. The learning curve, as I was soon to find out, was ongoing. You find out working in fandom that creators rarely complete what they start and even those that do, hardly ever do it on time or even in a timely fashion. I think because I came from a field where doing what you do is directly connected to being able to eat, you get it done. Returning the story to him, I round myself accepting the position as editor of the experimental ScriptGraphics Text Novels, and here I am. I’m very happy to be editor of a book like this since it is more concerned with what writers do and not artists. I like the illustrated stuff but there’s just nothing in the comic book field for writers who don’t have an artist to work with. Now they do and I hope this and my other editorials read like history in the making, because that’s what these books will be doing... making history. Or not. The audience will decide that. I’m also working on the digital versions of these text novels since the internet is where most people spend a whole lot of time. This book kicks off the first book in the line of Text Novels. Following this issue will be a story about a Native American, street gangs, and the occult by Keith Royster, who wrote the first story of the Destiny Squad featuring Quasar in the very first book published by ScriptGraphics. After that will be an epic fantasy story in the vein of Lord of the Rings by Mark Wayne Harris. I’m glad to have you aboard for the ride. We’ll be completing at least six to eight issues in this format to give it time to become part of the small press landscape. Will fans accept prose stories without art? I really don’t know. Will we have to modify the format to make it more palatable? Don’t know that either. I do know there needs to be more experimentation with the storytelling form and this is just one of them. This isn’t comics per-se. It is storytelling, and telling a good story will always be a good thing to me. The written word lives on! Fenwick (The Fenth) ThaddeusFord Editor, ScriptGraphics Text Novels

Page 13

In 1976, lightning struck in the form of magazine sized ScriptGraphics #1. It contained a story about a Rhodes Scholar who was given the power of the stars called Quasar. In 1985, lightning struck again as that very first Quasar story was re-released in digest format. This time the release was different. He wasn’t alone. Four other galactic entities joined him in combating the greatest threat know to the universe.The books were an instant hit as the story was completed for the very first time. It’s been nearly twenty years since those books were done and now they’re back. Originally designed for print, they’ll be brought back in the order of their original appearances with re-designed packaging. The lettering has been re-purposed to take advantage of the new digital technologies and the art, where necessary, has been completely re-drawn by some of the greatest talent in the fan/pro arena.

Page 14

The Destiny Squad Returns

2011

A LAST WORD: If you’ve already read the editorial by ScriptGraphics E.I.C. Aja Frost, and The Fenth, then there isn’t much more I can add. If you like to write very long stories, then please send only the complete story and not segments. You may also have to wait a while for our in house staff to get it back to you based on the amount of submissions at any given time. We will, however let you know we’ve received your submission. Digital format files work best: Word files, PDF’s and direct e-mails. Send those to Aja Frost at aja_frost@hotmail.com and put ‘story submission’ in the subject field. Thanks. ScriptGraphics role will be to provide an open forum for the creative talent of fandom as well as the world community. In the past we’ve had work sent to us from as far away as Hawaii and as close as around the corner and we’re willing to give just about anyone a fair chance to prove how good they are. We don’t want to keep your work; we just want to show it off. That’s all. All creators retain all of the rights to their work and ScriptGraphics expects you to be the owner of that work. We only require national print and publishing rights and international digital publishing rights for an agreed to amount of time. All stories must contain at least five pages of material and be able to fill at least eight pages if the book is to be a stand alone story. Stories to be placed in anthology or to be used as back ups can be smaller, but these have got to be really good. It’s our belief that a good story can be written in the above amount of space, so have fun and get writing. A small biography of yourself would be nice too. It helps for others to know who you are. This allows your story to serve as a promotional tool. COVER ART SUBMISSIONS: We are also accepting cover artists work for review. Submit URLs of any work you have online that you think will grab our attention and we’ll see how we can best utilize your talents. Be as diverse as possible in what you send since we don’t know how imaginative the Text Novel stories we get will be. The artwork needs to be proportional to a standard ten by fifteen inch page to fill the entire cover area. Keep in mind that at least a quarter of the top will be used for the logo or title of the book. Fill in that area but don’t put anything crucial to the cover there. When a story is approved, an artist is chosen based on the samples we have on file. A copy of the story is sent to the chosen artist with the scene to appear on the cover underlined or typed out. Artists are allowed to make suggestions via phone or e-mail in order to take a pro-active role in the creation of the cover where necessary. A completion date is agreed upon and the home office puts it all together when all parts of the production are downloaded or arrive at the home office. A short biography of yourself when submitting the finished cover is required. Again, a promotional tool for yourself. ZINE ON! Darrell Goza

Page 15